True To My Every Word
by Omnipotentia
Summary: The year is 1942 and Ludwig Beilschmidt, operating doctor of Racconigi Mental Asylum, Italy, wished he'd be elsewhere. His life is turned upside down when one of his patients, the young ex soldier Feliciano Vargas, gets too close to him. But war is corrupting the best people and he's forced to make a life-changing choice... (Historical WWII, GerIta, lobotomies)
1. A man nowhere short of surprises

August 27th, 1942

From the moment he had stepped into the room, Ludwig had sensed that something was different about him. It was the smile on his face. Ludwig hadn't seen a single smile in the four months since he'd started working in this institution. Infamous for its brutal curing methods in all Europe, it was hard not to notice the shadow that seemed to encompass this dark, somber place. Now, working in a mental hospital was never fun for anyone, but there was something highly disturbing about the Racconigi Hospital in particular that sent chills up and down Ludwig's spine. But this man, despite the given circumstances and against all odds, merely smiled at Ludwig. He was left seemingly unfazed by this place's crushing atmosphere and in this exact moment, Ludwig couldn't help but wonder just what was wrong with this mysterious man. A mystery he was to soon uncover.

"My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, and I will be your operating doctor from this day on." He was surprised when his extended hand was met with a firm, enthusiastic shake.

"Buongiorno, Ludwig! My name is Feliciano Vargas, but my friends can call me Feli, if you'd like!" Feliciano… What a common Italian name for such an uncommon Italian man. Ludwig couldn't help but feel fascinated by this person who talked to an authority figure like him as if they were close friends, and who did so naturally like a duck took to water. However, that was also a thing that irritated a proper man like Ludwig to no end. The German watched with a deep frown on his face as Feliciano took a seat on the chair in front of his work desk- unrequested.

"Just Doctor Beilschmidt is fine", Ludwig sighed.

"But Ludwig is such a nice name! You should wear it proudly. I would be happy if my name was Ludwig! Or do you maybe prefer Luddy?", the Italian chattered away. Ludwig was irritated. Why was this guy so happy?

"I would prefer if you didn't call me Ludwig for professionality's sake. Using last names is considered more appropriate", he closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the irritating man in front of him from his eyesight. Just for a second, to give his mind much needed time to rearrange.

"Good thing that I have never bothered with formalities too much then, si, Ludwig?"

Ludwig gave a sigh of disapproval as an answer and cleared his throat, then briefly checked the facts in his folder of documents that had a special place on his neatly arranged work desk. "Anyway, let's get back to the matter at hand. Do you know why you are here?"

"But of course I do! I am here because my fratello works here!"

Ludwig studied the other man's face carefully for any sign of nervous convulsions, although he'd correctly presumed that there were none. He could already tell that he wasn't working with the usual trauma victim here, and so he figured that his symptoms would show in a manner he had yet to detect. Feliciano offered him another warm smile. Or was it all show? Was the Italian trying to fool him? As the German took notes on his notepad, a certain spark of interest in the Italian's version of the story emerged. There was no doubt that it would be made up nonsense, but Ludwig was a firm believer that every little piece of detailed nonsense was required in order to solve the puzzle which was his patient. Who could tell at this point if the information acquired now would maybe give the crucial hint to a diagnosis later? Ludwig was a rationalist and stuck to his logical approach. It was self-explanatory that he already had his own assumptions and theories, but it wasn't like the thoughtful person he was to jump to blind conclusions, to dismiss everyone else's input except for his own. He wanted to be thorough and he knew that he had to cooperate with the Italian actively if he wanted progress.

"Why don't you tell me a bit about your brother?"

Feliciano clapped his hands in a manner that suggested he was keen on cooperating with his suggestion. "With pleasure! Well, you see, my fratello is a very nice man! He may come off as hostile or angry when you first meet him, but I promise that he doesn't mean harm! He's just unsure and afraid of meeting new people, si?" After a short pause for breath, the Italian continued with incredible zealousness. "Our parents died when we were still bambinos, but fortunately our grandpa took us under his wing and raised us with all his love and patience! We were inseparable, but when it was time to part for war, I joined the military while my fratello offered his services as a nurse in this hospital. I originally came to visit for a weekend, but the pasta here is so much better than in the army and now I don't want to go back! War is scary! Once this war is over though, he will take over the family business, which is what he always wanted and worked so hard for- I am so proud of him!"

Ludwig's face paled with each passing second of Feliciano's deceiving but endearing speech that made him want to believe in its truth, with each warm smile the man offered to a world that had likely never smiled back at him. It was strange, really. Normally Ludwig was a professional who would keep distance and objectiveness towards his patients from the start to the very end, but at the same time he also couldn't help but feel immediate sympathy for this man.

It had to be the smile, for a genuine smile was a rarity in hard times like these where rations were limited, and dread and terror were the everyday companion of each citizen. Wherever Ludwig went, it would show on people's faces like a cruel reflection of his own fears and worries. For nobody could feel safe, and nobody was safe in times of war. It was the constant presentiment that each day could be the last, that each day the incessant war could be lost and with it all remaining hope, all of which corrupted the common moral to no end. Because the moment the allies seized Berlin and Rome, Ludwig and his landsmen would have to take responsibility for being complicit in the system. The government's attempts to calm the tense situation by belittling its problems had miserably failed, with rumors of the eastern front spreading. Apparently, Hitler's troops were already struggling to keep up with the soviets despite many proclaimed victories. It was only a matter of time until the existent panic would generate a mass hysteria midst which all reason would fail. But this Italian ex soldier… He must have found the one person in the entire Western world who was unaffected by the horrible development of this war, Ludwig couldn't help but think with underlying irritation. But then he remembered just what the Italian had been committed for and he immediately felt bad for his initial anger. However, the curiosity remained. Ludwig would be lying if he denied just being slightly intrigued by his patient. Seemingly contemplating his next words, Ludwig set pen to paper and frowned.

"I take it your brother and you were close and had a strong bond?"

Feliciano tipped his head lightly with his right hand. All of a sudden, all naïvité had vanished from his look and gave place to a sad glint, but Ludwig might as well have been fooled by the daylight's reflection, and thus dismissed it as nothing. And just as quickly as this change in behavior occurred, it was gone already and Feliciano gave him a wide smile once more.

"What do you mean, 'were'? I think that I don't understand, Ludwig. Aren't we still close to this day?"

"You are not. Your brother… He died on the battlefield not too long ago", Ludwig managed to state calmly. It was unacceptable to show patients too much emotion as it only ever served to provoke or fuel them. But instead of staring back at the face of a crying man, he was met with a weak smile. It was in that exact moment that he realized that even before, the man's warm brown eyes had lacked a certain spark of liveliness to make his façade authentic.

"I still don't get it. Lovi's standing right behind you, and he's been talking to me this whole time. How can you say that he's dead?"


	2. Floating

September 18th, 1942

"Say, Ludwig, do you believe in love?"

Ludwig looked up from his desk and put his pen aside with a frown. "Why would you ask me such a personal thing all of a sudden?"

The Italian chuckled lightly at this. He crossed his legs on the couch, just to uncross them a few seconds later, and proceeded to stretch out his delicate limbs. In the three weeks of working with Feliciano Vargas, Ludwig had come to know a lot of his quirks. Most of them were just everyday life habits he doubted anyone ever really paid attention to, like the way one would never notice one's hands' nervous fumbling unless it had been directly pointed out by someone else prior.

But there was indeed one thing about this young man that really captured his attention. Feliciano would occasionally stare off into nothingness, like one would occasionally pick at their nails, sighing and biting his bottom lip in a manner that suggested some sense of guilt- soon had he suspected that this was his equivalent of nervous fiddling. What was he feeling guilty for? What had happened to the ex soldier was a tragedy, but he wasn't supposed to remember a thing about the incident.

Whenever Ludwig tried to confront him about his behavior, Feliciano would just stare at him through big, innocent eyes, as if he was blissfully unaware that he was doing it.

But Ludwig knew better than to fall for his antics. He knew by the way his patient would stop breathing whenever he felt the doctors' observant eyes on him. Feliciano probably thought that he was being inconspicuous, but he was far from it. How could Ludwig not notice when it was like he turned into a whole different person when being watched? And as if that alone wasn't irritating enough, Feliciano had to be about the most complex person Ludwig ever had the chance of working with.

In fact, he had gone as far as to keep a list of irritating things Feliciano did.

Sometimes he would start a sentence, stop midway through and never finish it. Then again, other times he'd change an entire topic in the turn of one word. Ludwig had found that they could talk about everything and nothing at all, be a thousand miles apart and in the same room all the same. He was present one moment and the next moment he wasn't; it was as though Feliciano was constantly floating, standing on the ground with two feet but at the same time not quite. There were worlds and oceans between them even when they stood face to face. It was frustrating and made communication anything but easy for someone supposed to help him.

Ludwig was under the permanent impression that Feliciano's mind tried to be everywhere at once, jumping from one thought to another too quickly for his brain to catch up. It hadn't taken him long to realize that it was much harder to follow and catch the Italian's train of thoughts, harder than it had been with any patient before.

In conversation, he would blindly reach for his rosary and toy with it for no apparent reason. But even more questionable was the fact that he had never seen him actually pray with it, which made him wonder whether Feliciano was a religious man at all, and if he believed in the afterlife. While Ludwig himself did not believe in a life after death, he did go to church fairly regularly. It was less about believing and more about being noticed in the right spot at the right time every once in a while though. Because how could one not go to church in times like these without raising suspicion? Without seeming like an oppositionist and risking getting arrested by the Gestapo?

Ludwig refocused on finishing his expert assessment, though he did listen halfheartedly to anything Feliciano was happily chattering on about. In those three weeks, he had learned that Feliciano was a true extrovert- on the outside, however ironic that sounded even in his own ears.

But he had soon found that he didn't mind his outgoing, overly joyous personality and his surprise visits that seemed to gain a certain regularity all that much. He figured that having someone as cheerful as the Italian around was a nice change of pace and distraction from grim daily life every once in a while. Though it was only that, a distraction. Because no matter what, he still found the same emptiness in the sterile halls after each visit.

He had only started to mind this environment after the first lobotomy he had executed, though he knew that it had been the right thing to do- no other treatment had worked for patient 360 and his severe psychosis. It had either been do or die, as it was a commonly known fact which fate awaited those who couldn't be healed, those who received the much dreaded stamp 'degenerate' on their health record. Ludwig did everything in his might to prevent such tragedies from becoming reality, but every once in a while, they did. Such was the nature of things, and nature itself was cruel.

"Hey, hey Ludwig, you haven't answered my question from before. Do you?"

Feliciano effortlessly flopped down on the chair in front of his desk, his arms propped up on the wood with all the never-ending energy he seemed to possess. Ludwig looked at him with a deep frown carved in his features, his eyes tired from all the nights of working long hours.

"Do what? What are you even going on about?"

Although the Italian's soft laughter echoed through his bureau, he could clearly see his smile falter at Ludwig's words. His lips parted slightly so as if to speak, but of all the sounds Ludwig expected to hear, none came out. His voice was silent. That was the moment he realized that Feliciano was talking to himself, mouthing the words in his imagination, for himself and for the voice he was talking to alone to hear- until he decided that his thoughts were good enough to be grasped in audible words.

"I asked you if you believe in love, of course!" Feliciano beamed at him. Ludwig stared back wide-eyed. This was what was bothering the young man? When their gazes met, he could almost feel this indefinable tension between them in the air. Indefinable because it was unknown to him, without a doubt, but not necessarily what he'd depict as uncomfortable. What should have been dealt with as an ignominy, as an insult to Ludwig's authority as a high-ranking NS doctor to be immediately reported to the SS, seemed more like a reason to refrain from speaking. They stared at each other in comfortable silence for a while, until Ludwig decided to break his silentness. He removed his reading glasses and leaned over his desk with a thoughtful sigh, deciding to repay the Italian's courage with equal straightforwardness.

"As you can see, I am married to my work. If I come across a suitable girl one day, then so be it. Love as you know it is just a reaction chain of chemical processes inside your brain anyway."

Feliciano appeared triste at his prosaic response, though nowhere surprised or shocked. But then again, nobody ever was.

The Italian reached inside his pants' pocket and held onto his rosary. Though somewhat choked, he forced himself to swallow lightly before he spoke. "What is it that you are so afraid of, Ludwig?" Said man payed more attention to the other's trembling shoulders than to the sweet smile that graced his lips.

"Entschuldigung?" Ludwig was taken aback for a moment, and genuinely didn't know what to say. When he didn't reply, Feliciano offered him a sheepish smile.

"In terms of love, I mean."

At this, Ludwig sighed and pushed the reading glasses up the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was annoyed. He arranged his paperwork neatly before him as he contemplated how to shut down this conversation in the least hostile way possible. "I don't have time for your nonsense right now. There is still work I need to finish."

"But are you afraid?"

His persistence was starting to make Ludwig uncomfortable, but more than anything, it rendered him speechless. Which of those reactions implied worse was something he would have to give thought to later on, as he would save it for when he was alone. As for now, he did what he was best at in order to avoid any unwelcome conversation- which was to bury himself in his work and hope that Feliciano would just drop this unpleasant topic and move on with the next. Of course, he never did, and just continued to look at him with hopeful eyes. With a defeated sigh, Ludwig surrendered to those eyes. He always did, in the end.

"What exactly makes you think that there's something I fear?" He watched Feliciano get up from the chair he'd been sitting on and stroll towards the wooden door- the one that marked the exit to his realm. Beyond that border existed a sorrowful place that didn't hold a future for any of its inhabitants, only that they never realized that they were heading towards their certain doom before it was sealed already.

Ludwig watched the other wrap his hand around the door handle with trembling fingers. His bright smile gave way to a faint, nervous quirk of the corners of his mouth which seemed so unnatural and out of place on his face that it had the same strange effect on Ludwig as if he'd put on a carnival mask. Furthermore, it made him realize for the first time that Feliciano too must know that there was no reason to smile outside of these walls.

Then he pressed down the handle, leaving his realm with hesitance and Ludwig with a headache that echoed his last words even after he was long gone.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. Are you coming, fratello? See you tomorrow at the same time!"


	3. Brother

September 18th, 1942

Ludwig was risking his life with every breath he took. For as long as he could remember, he had been at constant risk because unlike so many of his colleagues, he didn't share the ideology propagandized by the system that paid his salary. It was the same system that had forcibly suppressed the intellectual voices of his country until all the resistance had stopped, the same system that was responsible for millions of deaths among civilians and soldiers alike. It was a system that had caused terror, chaos and systematic genocide to prevail, with laws as simple as the minds of those who blindly obeyed them. They were without a single care for those the law did not protect, for those who were suffering or no longer alive because of it.

This mass ignorance was what had shaken Ludwig down to the core, what had affected him deeply enough to want to leave the very country he had grown up to love for its righteousness and sincerity. It wasn't until he finished his studies in Heidelberg that he realized just how effectively benevolence had been lulled to sleep by Hitler's charismatic speeches. His neighbors, his colleagues, even a few close friends- all of them had been decent people before the fascist takeover in '33. Before everything had changed for the worse. It had been unpleasant to watch those essentially good humans turn into Nazis and one of the many reasons why he had accepted the job offer in Racconigi hospital almost on the spot.

Fortunately, there were rays of hope even in the darkest of times. One of those rays was his older brother Gilbert who fought bravely in the army. He was currently in Italy after several bloody encounters with British soldiers in North Africa. Ludwig had received a letter in his most messy handwriting a few days prior, dating tonight 6 pm as the supposed time of his arrival.

As Ludwig managed to see all his patients and hand in the paperwork early, he was allowed to go pick him up.

In the end, being early meant that he arrived just in time. The train had already opened its doors for people of all ages and social standings. Men in ordinary soldier uniforms and elegantly dressed upper-class women alike swarmed to the

local cab stands, hoping to catch one of the popular vehicles. Shop owners offered their articles on the streets near the gates and children were dragged along by their frantic mothers. The only group of people Ludwig didn't see was Jews. But that could also be because their one-way train had already left the station at dawn.

Everybody always seemed to be in a hurry these days, regardless of those around them and without a care for their surroundings. That this hurrying only ever served to compound an already unorganized situation, no one seemed to notice. Or maybe it was just that nobody took the time to notice, these days. As people went by and left, Ludwig was able to detect a fairly familiar face amidst strangers in the distance.

Despite the bustle in and around the station, Gilbert stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb. Due to his snow white hair and pale skin, people would turn around and give him dirty looks wherever he went. An outcast of society- such was the unjust fate of most albinos. His albinism would keep most people from talking to him in public, but Gilbert took it with pride, incredible amounts of self-confidence and irony. Ever since he could remember, Ludwig had always looked up to him for being such a strong and steadfast person, for ignoring those who claimed that albinos had no place in society. In fact, Ludwig was certain that the great majority would break under his social pressure at some point, but then again, his brother wasn't and never had been 'most people'. To friends and allies he was just 'Gilbert', a more than eccentric fellow who was known and widely appreciated for his outgoing personality, loyalty and questionable decisions.

"Ludwig!", the approaching man called as he cut his way through the bustling crowd. Ludwig could make out that the man was still in his uniform, with a leather bag in his left hand- and that he was limping.

It was hard not to notice when there had always been such an effortless carelessness in the way he moved. Where there had been a certain arrogance to his every step before, now was modesty and wariness. He was no longer the boy Ludwig had bid farewell in Nuremberg three years ago, no longer the boy that had ran away from home when the Gestapo had rung their doorbell to come collect any German son of legal age for compulsory military service. Gilbert was no longer a sheltered brat. He was a broken soldier now, and the traumatic experiences he'd faced were visible in his every move, and as were his scars.

"Lud!" Still marveling at the changes Gilbert had undergone, he was lifted off the ground in a tight embrace. "Won't you look at how big and handsome you've grown since I last saw you! I can barely even lift you anymore, kesese!" Gilbert let him down with a wide grin and ruffled his hair.

"Bruder! Thank God you're healthy", Ludwig closed his eyes and held onto him, never wanting to let go. In fact, he hadn't thought that he'd ever get to hold onto him again. It was a miracle with how many soldiers had died on the battlefield during the last months only. Although Ludwig seemed self-composed on the outside, he was closer to tears than he had been in a long time. Gilbert must have known because the next thing he did was mumble in his shoulder that he too had never thought a reunion possible. That Gilbert was actually just as overwhelmed on the inside and that he too was trying his damn hardest not to cry.

'Don't cry.' People had been telling him not to cry all his life. Either because it was considered unmanly or because he was old enough not to. But to hear from his older brother, the one he had always looked up to, that he too felt like crying… That statement alone was all it took for him to drop his inhibitions and bury his face in his older brother's collar, dampening it with hot tears. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have started crying then and there. Under normal circumstances, Gilbert wouldn't have joined in either. And maybe they wouldn't have stayed entwined like they were until the two of them were the only ones left at the train station and no longer crying.

Elated and disbelieving all the same, Ludwig thought back to how he had missed his bruder only a few months ago. And how he had worried. With Gilbert fighting at the frontline, there was rarely a moment when Ludwig hadn't had nightmares about losing him. Sometimes, when his darkest thoughts had overshadowed the light of reason inside his mind, he had prayed for Gilbert. And although he knew that Gilbert's wellbeing had nothing to do with supernatural forces, he couldn't help but thank every God in the world for Gilbert's survival, the only piece of heaven he had ever been granted. His deceased father had once remarked that Gilbert wouldn't be a man of great deeds if not for the fact that he already had one foot in the grave anyway. Ludwig agreed, to some extent. But that didn't stop him from wondering just how their lives would have turned out to be if there had never been war. If they lived in different, more peaceful times.

"We need to celebrate our reunion, Lud", Gilbert gave him the presumably widest smile he could muster with tears still drying in the corners of his eyes. "I have work tomorrow. It would be irresponsible of me to drink", Ludwig sighed and, reluctantly, slowly let go of him. This only earned him an understanding pat on the back as Gilbert wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him toward the cab stands. "Ah, my little brother's become a man, I see. But I insist. There's no better way to catch up and celebrate than over a bottle of ice cold beer." Ludwig only managed a small shake of the head and a deep sigh before climbing into the cab with him. "You're impossible." That was all that had to be said for Gilbert to whip his wallet out and pay the driver to get them to the closest bar. If his persuasive powers weren't going to cost him his well paid job one day, he didn't know what would.

"So this is Turin, huh? If the circumstances were any different, I would want to go on a vacation here", Gilbert mumbled in appreciation as they passed the marketplace. About two minutes after they had gotten comfortable in the cab, his brother had decided that he would rather walk instead. Even though the driver had offered to return the money received for the ride, Gilbert had refused to accept it with a wink. This had left Ludwig intrigued. His brother would save money wherever he could when they were younger and still poor.

"How come that you didn't want your money back? It would have been the proper thing to demand."

Gilbert just shook his head and smiled, ruffling his hair. "I've never been one to care about being proper just for propriety's sake. War has taken its toll on all of us, and it's no fair that only those actively involved in it are rewarded. Every man in the streets who gets up early every morning to do his painful duty has done just as much fighting as I have, don't you agree?"

"Where exactly have you grown wise in the last three years?", Ludwig couldn't help but ask.

"Who knows? Maybe I've been wise all along. Someone as awesome as me would be", Gilbert couldn't help but answer.

'Awesome'. If there was one thing a real friend knew about Gilbert, it was that he wasn't used to receiving compliments, much less genuine ones. While it was true that he had incredible amounts of confidence, it was more than evident that he put on an act more often than he didn't. He'd always played the tough guy rather than shown any vulnerability. But it wasn't just Gilbert.

Ludwig too would never admit his true feelings to anyone, including himself, which he guessed was just a side effect of their father's scarring education. But as the older brother, Gilbert had always had it worse. And it displayed on his pale face whenever their father was brought up.

The market place was full of life. Constant movement, conversations in rapid Italian and ancient buildings dominated the scenery unfolding in front of him very much like a beautiful painting by Michelangelo.

Sunset had started dipping the place in its last rays of sun, adding to the overall admirable view. If he had known a thing or two about art, he would have wanted to capture the beauty of the moment in a breathtaking picture or in a lovely sonnet.

He had taken a liking to Italian culture and lifestyle the very day he had arrived in Turin among other soldiers. Ludwig had instantly fallen in love with the country that embodied everything he could never be. And it angered him that the spirit he had gotten accustomed to living in Italy was slowly being broken by Mussolini and his people.

Gilbert didn't seem to notice or mind too much as he pulled Ludwig towards one of the ancient buildings with a bleached sign that read 'Osteria' on it. He was more clearly limping now, though he refused to show any pain. "The first round's on me", the man grinned conspiratorially as he held the door open for Ludwig. "Ladies first."

Ludwig sighed and rubbed his temples like he usually did whenever his brother decided to embarrass him in public. "You are being impossible, brother." Despite himself, he decided to humor Gilbert and went first, pointedly ignoring his giggles. After all, it was easier to just play along with Gilbert's childish games. After making sure that his brother was actually following him, he walked up to the bar counter of the dimly lighted pub as if he wasn't a regular.

"Birra alla spina, per favore", he told the young barkeeper in a local accent. Almost immediately, the man ceased talking to a customer and stepped out from behind the counter. The face-splitting smile on his features was unmistakable, and so was the spark in his forest green eyes as they scanned the area of the pub for something- or someone.

When he didn't find what he was looking for, he brought the Germans to a less busy sitting area of the pub. It was secluded from the others, though not too obviously so as not to raise suspicions. The area consisted of only a few tables and benches huddled together in one corner of the room, far enough away to remain unheard by other visitors and close enough to ensure being seen. Because everyone knew how important being seen really was in dark times.

Gilbert was the first to shrug off his act and envelop the barkeeper in a tight, bone-crushing hug. "Good to see that they didn't deport your foreign, non-aryan ass yet, man."

The young man shook his head and laughed wholeheartedly, hitting Gilbert lightly on the arm just to pull him into an even tighter embrace. "Lo siento, Gil. Maybe I'm lucky enough and they'll send you to do the job. It's good to see you too, amigo."

Gilbert joined in with his laughter as he sat down and patted the spot next to him for Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a Spanish immigrant from Madrid who had fled his country at the beginning of the Guerra Civil in 1936. Ludwig could tell how much the months amidst civil war and bloodshed must have weighed down on him. There was just something about Antonio whenever he was asked about his family by someone who did not know that gave him away.

Despite his tragic past, Antonio would manage to smile and lighten up the mood, running his business with an unbreakable spirit that challenged Ludwig's analytical skills to no end. Until only a few weeks ago, he'd thought that Antonio's spirit was without equal. That he offered the brightest smile to ever be offered. His face heated up in shame when the picture of smiling Feliciano crossed his mind.

Gilbert just had to notice but kept quiet about it, engaging in fond catch-up conversation with his Spanish friend. When Ludwig came back to his senses, they were talking about women.

"For how much longer are you going to stay single, Tonio?"

"Until I find a chica that gets my heart all loco. What about you, Señor Heartbreaker?"

"The day this awesome mister settles is the day I die. No woman can make me change."

"Not even Elizabeta?" Antonio smirked with all the knowing audacity only a friend could assume.

"That was a one time thing", Gilbert smirked back and made a suggestive hand motion.

"You're both shameless to talk in such a way about any lady", Ludwig blushed even brighter and cleared his throat, displeased.

"Ever the gentleman, Lud", Gilbert patted his back and laughed. "But that cantankerous shrew is no lady. Besides, we're just among men. And anything is allowed among men."

If really anything were allowed among men, Ludwig thought bitterly, he wouldn't have to hide behind a lie all his life.

"Sí, I agree with your brother, Ludwig", Antonio gave him a cheerful smile and stood. "Which reminds me that we don't have drinks in our hands yet! As a good bartender and owner of this humble pub, I'll have to change that. I'll be right back!"

Gilbert laughed loudly and leaned back. "Don't stress yourself, old friend. We got all the time in the world tonight."

No matter how much Ludwig's mind wanted to argue that they had to leave soon if they wanted to make it back at a reasonable hour, his heart kept him from ruining this perfect moment. And it was truly perfect; the hero returned from the battlefield, reunited with his brother and closest friend, celebrating the here and now. They were just Gilbert, Antonio and Ludwig as they chatted about anecdotes, aspirations and politics over a few bottles of beer and shared laughter.

But even perfection wasn't eternal: By the time the brothers parted ways with Antonio at early dawn, wartime depression was thick in the air again. None of the friends knew when Gilbert had to leave for war again, which stopped them from making explicit plans for the weeks to follow. In their slightly intoxicated state, they promised each other to meet again soon instead.

The promise still lingering in the air, the brothers returned to Ludwig's apartment. Needless to say, both of them passed out due to exhaustion the very moment they reached the couch. It had been an exhausting day; refreshing and just as dreamless was the sleep to follow indeed.


End file.
